The Rooster Shall Not Crow
by JealousOfTheMoon
Summary: Thrice he forgot and thrice he denied. -book/movieverse-
1. once

_Disclaimer: _I understand there may be many questions about this story. I have a full explanation prepared, but I would rather not post it until the entire thing is complete. Feel free to voice concerns/questions in reviews, but please don't give up or be frustrated if I don't respond. I promise, this thing is only three chapters, and with the third chapter will come an explanation. Also, my knowledge of weapons/battles is limited. Please bear with me. ...Quotes from Narnia & the Bible are not my own; also, characters do not belong to me....

_Description: _Bookverse/Movieverse, slightly AU. Leans heavily on the religious comparison.

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_Peter said to Him, 'Lord, why can I not follow You now? I will lay down my life for Your sake.' Jesus answered him, 'Will you lay down your life for My sake? Most assuredly, I say to you, the rooster shall not crow till you have denied Me three times.' _(John 13:37-38)

'_Hand it to me and kneel, Son of Adam,' said Aslan. And when Peter had done so he struck him with the flat of the blade and said, 'Rise up, Sir Peter Wolf's-Bane. And, whatever happens, never forget to wipe your sword.' _(LWW, 'Peter's First Battle')

**The Rooster Shall Not Crow **-_by JotM_

_.once._

The first time he forgot, Ed and he had been fooling around in the kitchens with their blades. In truth, they'd been hoisting cheeses and fruits about and cutting them in midair, in a manner that would have given their master at arms cause to beat them, or threaten at the very least. Somewhere in the fray Ed had gotten nicked and in his haste to see to his brother he sheathed his sword and completely forgot.

On that occasion, he was so preoccupied with bandaging the wound and then smuggling Ed back to his chambers. He'd spent all night cleaning the kitchen, and then early the next morning his focus was on disguising Edmund's wound so his sisters wouldn't fuss. He'd taken out the sword the next day in the armory and the smell of rancid fruit and cheese with just a hint of blood had made for a long time cleaning—and for a somewhat sobering explanation to their training master, complete with the hanging of the head and the shuffling of the feet.

"High King," the imposing centaur's voice was gentle without a hint of anger, only sternness, but somehow that was worse than any bawling out Peter had ever received. "You do, I trust, remember Aslan's instructions when he dubbed you Knight of Narnia? Do not think that you, as King, are above or beyond such orders, however much more lowly your position was when they were given."

That had made him red-faced and rather remorseful, but he hadn't forgotten willfully. See, he'd never really worried about forgetting. It had seemed such a funny thing for Aslan to say at such a momentous occasion—got a few laughs from the Beasts—and he _had _just been knighted, so he hadn't thought much beyond that fact. He'd briefly given it the 'clean sword, right' mental filing and then put it in the part of his brain that held the matters of common sense (which, as a young lad, he often disregarded).

Anyway, it hadn't been such a big deal. Only the sheath had to be replaced.

There was no reproach on his brother's part. He'd told Edmund how sorry he was for hurting him, but all Ed said was "well, we'll have to use kitchen knives next time instead of swords—and I say, what's that awful smell?"

Once, Peter forgot. He didn't nearly lose anything.

_Then the servant girl who kept the door said to Peter, "You are not also one of this Man's disciples, are you?" He said, "I am not." _(John 18:17)


	2. twice

Disclaimer: _I do not write battle scenes. Ever. But I have contrived a bit of one here, and have found that dialogue is definitely where I am most comfortable. All the while I was writing and revising this chapter I could not convince myself that it was not very dull because not much was being _said_. I hope you do not find it so tedious. …The usual disclaimers regarding ownership apply here also. _

Description: _This chapter is Golden Age, eitherverse. I do not explain it in the story (it made for a very dull first paragraph, so I took it out), but the source of the battle is the random clumps of the Witch's followers who after her death surely remained to be dealt with during the reign of the Four.  
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_.twice._

It was a dark night, almost too dark for coherent battle. He'd just bested a particularly tenacious hag, but the vile thing had managed to knock him to the ground just before it lost its life. Killing the...thing (he wasn't sure whether to call it 'her' or 'it') had been a bit of a fluke, and adrenaline had saved his life when breath failed him. Too winded to get to his feet immediately, he half-crawled, half-rolled to a nearby tree and propped his sword against it so that the hilt was on the ground. Pulling himself into a sitting position, he glanced around—the worst of the fight seemed over—before leaning back briefly.

_Thunk!_

A blade hit the tree just above his head, and he jerked back in alarm, bashing his head in the process. Stars swam in his vision. He could barely make out the form of a minotaur, swinging its blade wildly in the general direction of the High King's head.

Peter fell over sideways and rolled as the nasty looking weapon was plunged into the ground where he had been just a few seconds ago, or at least in that general area (big, brutish creatures cannot be described as having the best aim, after all). He barely made it to his feet and scrabbled about for his sword, cursing his stupidity for putting the hilt closest to the ground. Finally, his hands found the hilt and closed around it. This was where his confidence returned—he could best a minotaur in battle any day!

Gripping the sword he began to engage the minotaur in battle. The hilt was slippery with the blood of his enemies: it had run down off the blade. _'Blast, blast, and oh, I say, BLA—!'_ The sword flew out of his grasp before he could finish the thought. _'This is it' _flashed through his mind—he couldn't even think to call for help—when the creature gave a groan and fell over, nasty black blood covering the blade of a very white-faced and wild-eyed younger king.

"You bleeding _idiot!"_ Edmund roared, a bit of uncourtly language slipping into his dialogue. His eyes were wild with anger and—perhaps—relief. "If you've got to have a breather, don't let go of your sword—or at least _clean_ the bloody thing first!" With that, he whirled around and disposed of another foul looking creature, leaving Peter to feel properly chastened and very foolish indeed.

The second time, he nearly lost his life.

_Now Simon Peter stood and warmed himself. Therefore they said to him, "You are not also one of His disciples, are you?" He denied it and said, "I am not!"_ (John 18:25)

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_THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL INVOLVE MOVIEVERSE. Considering that the first two chapters are GoldenAge years, one may safely assume that (since this is moving chronologically) it will be Prince Caspian. I will do my best to not assume that everyone has seen the film or that everyone makes mountains out of the same molehills I do – that is, I will try not to blow through little events to get to my perceived 'big event' – but this does qualify that next (last) chapter as spoiler material. _


	3. thrice

Random History Fact: _The basic blood types—A, B, and O—were first recognized in 1901. Blood 'depots' were around in England during WWI, making the usage of the term 'blood donation' quite in keeping with the times for this story. _

Disclaimer: _For the last two chapters, I've used the Gospel of John version, but for this last chapter I am switching to Luke. The phraseology/aspects of the story it brings out best suit this chapter, just as John's best suited the other chapters. This is certainly not the sort of hermeneutic I would recommend for a systematic study of the Bible, but since I don't believe the accounts are disharmonious_ _and since this is meant to be a relatively loose comparison, I think I can get away with it. Scripture quotations taken from Luke 22:59-62, in the italics at intervals; also, I quote LWW (same as in ch. 1) and the PC 2008 movie. __As usual, I do not own anything, nor do I intend to profit materially by any of this. _

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_.thrice._

The third time was about more than a lecture or his life. He wished he could say the third time had gone by like a blur—that things happened too quickly for him to realize what was happening while it was happening. He knew that, could he say that, it would ease the burden on himself. But while events had gone by quickly, they had been crystal clear to the eye of his soul, each one of them sharp like a sword in his memory, decimating any vestiges of his sense of self-worthiness.

Because the third time had been the worst, you see. The third time, there hadn't been anything so trivial as a lecture or his life or even his country on the line.

The third time, he nearly lost his soul.

* * *

_Then after about an hour had passed, another confidently affirmed, saying, "Surely this fellow also was with Him, for he is a Galilean." But Peter said, "Man, I do not know what you are saying!"  
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He'd been too harsh to Caspian after the failed attack on the castle. He'd pushed the boy too far. _'Boy' _was all Caspian was—a boy, trying to measure up and walk alongside legends, facing the fearsome fact that he himself might become a legend, fearing he was too small for legendhood—and Peter had just been rubbing salt in the wound of self-doubt and insecurity.

At once he had treated him like a boy and chastised him for not being a man, and the inconsistency had been too much for the both of them. He'd said something and Caspian had said something, and they'd have fought if Edmund hadn't shouted. The prince and High King had parted bitterly, the one to attend to a fallen friend, the other to bury his fallen hopes.

After tending to Trumpkin, Peter followed Edmund and Lucy inside (Susan was helping the DLF find a place to rest) and there she was: Jadis, suspended in a wall of ice, asking for a drop of Adam's blood, and Caspian—the idiot—about to give a wartime blood donation to end all blood donations.

He was almost pleased to see Her—to see an old, familiar enemy._ 'I've already beaten Her once before,' _he thought, _'and I was younger and more immature then.'_ Even as Edmund grabbed Peter's arm to keep him from rushing into the situation, the older brother shouted: "_Stop_!" and ploughed ahead.

The hag was easily disposed of, and he turned to Jadis, sizing up the odds. _'Time to break the ice,'_ he thought, laughing a little inwardly at his joke._ 'Run her through,' _he told himself,_ 'you can do this. Get up there and run her through—show that you are capable of ridding Narnia of at least one of your enemies.'_

"Get away from him!" he shouted, knocking Caspian—the oaf! Really, you'd think he'd have come to his senses…—aside.

For a moment Jadis pulled back, hesitating, sizing up the boy before her even as Peter willed her to try anything with him. Apparently she decided he was vulnerable enough. _'As if!'_

"Peter, dear," the woman said, moving towards him slightly and using what was supposed to be an enticing tone._ Hah!_ "I've missed you." _I'm sure you have._ "Come, just one drop." She moved in for the kill. "You know you can't do this alone."

The words that had been running through his mind, filling him with burning hurt and then anger ever since he'd fallen out of the wardrobe stopped him in his tracks. Unbidden, other words from the past spring to his mind, overtaking his soul in a torrent of bitterness.

_'He bumped me…Don't you ever get tired of being treated like a kid?…I wasn't always! …High King Peter—The Magnificent…We've waited for Aslan long enough…I can do this! …'_

_'I can do this,'_ he repeated to himself stubbornly, but even still his sword lowered a fraction, so that it was level with her hand rather than her heart, and he moved towards her—to stab the life out of her, he told himself, even as his heart wondered perhaps…

_But Aslan…_ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Edmund piped up. _She was _Aslan's_ enemy, Pete!_

_She's also right in front of me,_ he returned savagely to himself. _She's right in front of me. If Aslan cared, He'd be in front of me, not Her. She said she missed me. She called me dear. If I could see Aslan's face or hear his voice, maybe, but he's gone—goodness knows where—goodness knows if he even has power anymore—he's gone—_

He tried to hate the words he was thinking, but to his surprise he found he'd been thinking them for so long that they were hardly shocking. Still, he kept his sword out, and he wavered between admitting he needed help and taking Jadis's but—was that triumph on Jadis's face? _No, _he told himself weakly,_ be the hero! Stab! Stab!_

* * *

_Immediately, while he was still speaking, the rooster crowed. __And the Lord turned and looked at Peter._

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_

He'd made up his mind to plunge the sword into her stomach, when suddenly a sword appeared through Jadis's middle and she crumbled into a pile of ice, leaving only the image of a stone lion, somehow still gleaming gold among all the blue, icy splendour.

It was the work of a moment, almost as anticlimactic as his next thought: _'That's going to leave a mess when it melts.' _This time the voice sounded like Susan's, but he didn't have time to think on it.

"I know," Ed said quietly, disgust and anguish washing over his face. His brother's gaze flickered down to the sword in Peter's hand, and if possible his expression grew even harder. "You had it '_sorted_.'"

Edmund stalked away, but Peter's gaze fell to his blade rather than following his brother. He was dimly aware of Susan rushing out of the room, of the regret in Caspian's eyes, but he was mostly aware of the sword.

It was streaked with blood—the hag's blood was most fresh, but he could see a few streaks of dry blood from the night's battle, most of which had already mingled with the hag's.

Telmarine blood.

_Adam's blood._

_Just one drop…_

His stomach turned.

* * *

_Then Peter remembered the word of the Lord, how He had said to him, "Before the rooster crows, you will deny Me three times."_

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He turned to Caspian. "I was going to stab her," he said, and though the words seemed like an attempt at justification the anguish in his tone left no room for that. It wasn't only this one near-act of betrayal, because that happened long before it almost happened, so to speak. He was like one who, finding himself on the brink of something terrible, only then realizes he plunged into the depths long ago.

Caspian only looked confuse, but Peter couldn't care to clarify. "I was going to rush up and stick it in her—" Peter the Magnificent's voice cracked as he looked at the messy blade—he waved his free hand wildly, gesturing towards Rhindon, desperate for Caspian to see what he meant. "All it took was a drop."

Then Caspian seemed to understand. "I am glad you did not touch her, then," the Prince said, no tone of accusation in his voice. He was being gracious about it, forgiving in his ignorance, but Peter could not be so forgiving. Because Caspian _didn't_ understand. Because Caspian didn't have words running through his mind, words that sounded like the cries of dying men mixed with his own speech.

"…_treated like a kid_…_how long?_…_I'm not lost_…_what happened?_…_we've waited for Aslan long enough_…_I can do this_…_I'm _not_ lost_…_the Magnificent_…think_ you saw Him?_…_I'm _not lost…"

The words and screams in his memory seemed to form a voice, still and small but more terrible than the fiercest snarl or the loudest roar:

_"And, whatever happens, never forget to wipe your sword._"

"No, no, you don't get it," Peter said, desperation sticking to each of his words and making them sound thick as they left his throat. The dirty blade shook in his sweating palm. "I forgot. Aslan help me, I _forgot_!" Rhindon slipped from his grasp as he fled the place, blood mingling in the dirt where his feet had been only moments before.

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_So Peter went out and wept bitterly._


	4. the story

So that's it. If that seems a rather hopeless ending to you, I've got the beginnings of an epilogue stirring in my brain, but I thought I'd put out the third chapter & this and see how they're received beforehand. (Do let me know if you'd like to see that.)

Firstly, for the trivial things: I called this mildly AU partly because the first two chapters consisted of Golden Age filler, but mostly because of the third chapter. The story originated ultimately when I was musing on the Jadis scene in PC and thought, _'wouldn't it be cool if there was a ton of Telmarine blood on Peter's sword because he forgot to wipe his sword which is symbolic of Peter's forgetting Aslan, and so even though Peter kept the sword in front of him the entire time and technically was on the 'defense' his efforts were no good because he neglected a simple command?'_ (Okay…so I didn't think of it like that all at once, but bits and pieces…you get the idea.) I went back and watched the scene, and found that while Jadis does _sort of_ appear to be reaching more for Peter's sword rather than the cut on his forehead, his blade is very clean. Hence the mildly AU nature of this story, because obviously for it to work Rhindon must be dirty.

Now for the real point of the matter.

When Peter was knighted, Aslan gave him a command: never forget to wipe your sword. It may have seemed a silly, trivial command, and perhaps it was only that, hence the half-AU nature of this story. But in another sense, when Aslan gives a command, it is probably worth keeping. (Catch the sarcasm?)

In this story, I have drawn a parallel between Peter of the Bible and Peter of Narnia. Here I must confess myself to have been first prompted to think on this by one of Petraverd's Character Connections on The Lion's Call many months ago… so really the credit for inspiration is threefold: the book, the movie, and Petra. (Fourfold, if you include the Bible, but it is the context I am always trying to think within so I sort of assume it as the primary inspiration for everything I write.)

This is a story that has been long in the works—indeed, I nearly did not write it. Back when it was just an idea, I asked myself: is it right to draw a comparison between Peter's denial of Christ and Peter forgetting a (seemingly trivial) command of Aslan's? This question rather clouded my inspiration for the actual writing of the story. For a long time I decided not to write it because the answer seemed to be 'no.' When the idea wouldn't go away, I scribbled out a very half-hearted version (three very small pages) in my FF book and left it at that.

But the question and idea continued to nag me, and I so I reopened that part of my book and gave it more thought. I have now arrived at the conclusion that the comparison is valid. I explain my reasoning in the following way:

Every day that I disobey God, I deny Christ.

That's rather abrupt, and maybe it doesn't make much sense, so I shall try to flesh it out a little more.

Go back to the garden of Eden. The command to Adam and Eve wasn't one that necessarily made sense. God did say, 'you will surely die'—but honestly, the fruit was there and good to look at and the concept of 'die' must have made little enough sense to two people who had never seen or experienced it. So Adam and Eve ate fruit – they didn't commit murder, they disobeyed a command that seems silly– but ultimately they denied God's authority over them and their own love for God. They denied God, and so they died.

So I offer that Peter Pevensie, in forgetting to clean his sword, did _covertly_ deny Aslan, just as Peter in the Bible _overtly _denies Christ, and thus my comparison is justifiable. The Peters were not without hope, just as Adam and Eve were not with out hope, and as all followers of Christ are not without hope. The hope is _in_ the bitter tears of repentance, hopeless though they may seem, because in that repentance is found the knowledge that Christ (Aslan) (even though we willingly pledged our souls to the devil (Jadis) in the cause of Self) has captured us and turned us in love to the cause of Christ.

This is my fumbling attempt at conveying what I see now of this hope. Of course there are a million places the analogy/comparison breaks down, because that is the purpose of analogies; to illuminate one or two things brilliantly (and then only rarely), a few more things decently, and then to spoil all the rest. What else can you expect? I—and you, if you seek to follow Christ—see it now 'through a glass darkly'—but we rejoice in the hope of one day seeing it—Him—as 'face to face.'

_-JotM_

P.S. This chapter is not an Author's Note. This is meant to be The Story.


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